


Drabbles.

by sweariwouldnt



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon, Drabble, M/M, non-au, soft silly things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-01-17 17:23:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12370452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweariwouldnt/pseuds/sweariwouldnt
Summary: A few soft silly drabbles I wrote on tumblr.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You're seriously like a man-child."

Harry loves Louis a lot. And he’s loved him a long time, too.

Hence he can’t understand why his ways of showing Louis how much he loves him still sometimes seem to go over Louis’ head.

“But _why_ can’t you give me our shoes?” Harry whines, words mumbled with how sleepy he is.

Or maybe it’s all a mumble because Harry has buried his face deep into Louis’ neck and shoulder, creating a cozy little nook that smells like Louis and feels warm, familiar.

Louis chuckles; a low rumble, and it makes his throat tremble a little, the movement feeling on Harry’s lips like a little quiver. Louis leans his head to Harry’s head.

“Oh, so they’re _our_ shoes now?”

“Everything that’s yours is mine,” Harry tells Louis and snuggles in even closer.

“We’re not even married, love,” Louis squeezes Harry’s side, pulling him so impossible close. There’s no space left between them, the only further they could go is under each other’s skins and. Well. They vacate that space already, too.

“Yet.”

They lay in silence for a while, listening to each other’s breathing. Louis runs his fingers lazily through Harry’s hair. It’s been ages since he cut his curls, but sometimes Louis still is surprised at how quickly his fingers reach the end of the locks, forgetting there isn’t as much as there used to be. Harry’s hair is so soft, so thick, it smells so comforting.

“I can’t believe you can’t give me your shoes.” Harry starts again.

“You’re a multimillionaire, love. Surely you can buy your own damn pair.”

“It’s not the same,” Harry groans quietly. “Shops don’t sell _your_ shoes.”

“Alright,” Louis humours Harry. “Say I _lend_ you the pair of shoes, what would you even do with them? And don’t say sniff, you don’t need to be any more gross than you already are.”

Harry pinches a random part of skin under Louis’ nipple, where his hand has been slowly drawing circles. “I’d wear them, of course.”

“You’d stretch them. Then I couldn’t wear _my_ shoes again.”

“Sure you could,” Harry puckers his lips to press something resembling a kiss on Louis’ shoulder. “My feet aren’t that big.”

“Bigger than mine.”

“Barely. And you’d just have, I dunno, more space for your feet. I’d make them comfy for you.”

“You’d ruin them. And then I couldn’t wear them anymore and you’d just keep them.”

Harry says nothing but smiles like a cat who got the cream and before he got it, had his whole plan exposed yet feels zero shame about it.

“See,” Louis tucks on a strand of Harry’s hair. “You always do this. You just ruin everything for me, always.”

“You love it,” Harry nods with his eyes closed. “You love me.”

“Won’t give you my shoes, though. Buy your own.”

“Give me your shoes. Please.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“You have to.”

“Says who?”

“Me.”

“Why?”

“Because I want them. Because I’m asking nicely.” Harry has now moved his hand off of Louis’ body to search for his hand, fingers entwined with Louis’.

Louis chortles. “You’re not asking nicely. This is not asking nicely.”

Harry pulls at Louis’ index finger gently, then repeating the pull on each of his fingers. “I said please.”

“You’re seriously like a man-child. Please this please that. All talk and no meaning.”

Harry wraps himself, all of his long limbs, even tighter around Louis. It’s almost immobilizing Louis, how tight he is held by Harry from head to toe.

“I take it back. You’re not a man-child. You’re a baby koala.”

Harry lets out a strange whimper, part a tiny roar, little bit like a meow.

“What was that?” Louis laughs.

“Koala sound,” Harry tells him seriously.

“You’re so full of shit, Styles. Koalas don’t make that sound.”

“This koala does.” Harry muses a thought for a bit. “It’s the sad koala sound. Sad, shoeless koala sound.”

“You’re an idiot,” Louis tells Harry yet again and nuzzles his sleep-warm cheek with his.

“Be an idiot koala with me,” Harry only says quietly and clings onto Louis even tighter.

Louis hugs him back, and welcomes sleepiness to take him over. He closes his eyes, not wanting to think about how his flight back home is approaching entirely too soon, just a matter of hours. It never gets easier, really.

\---

Harry wakes up to Louis kissing him goodbye, telling him to carry on sleeping and that he’ll see him in a week or so. Harry listens to the hotel room door close, stretching to wake himself up to the day – he never is able to carry on sleeping when Louis leaves, feels like he needs to get out of the bed immediately so he doesn’t have to feel the warm sheets where Louis had been get colder.

He stretches out his arm to reach Louis’ pillow so he can smell it and hug it, imagine Louis is there for a little bit longer, but the pillow doesn’t move. Instead, something scatters around and hits Harry’s hands.

It’s a pair of black vans, with a white mark on the side.

Louis loves Harry a lot.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Why can’t you appreciate my sense of humor?”

Louis used to pretend he didn’t eavesdrop on Harry’s phone calls. He used to pretend to be busy when Harry was walking around, yapping on the phone. Louis used to make it seem like he didn’t study Harry’s face carefully during his phone calls; Harry had such an expressional face, so his little pouts or his brows furrowing or his eyes lighting up in a smile were a very good indication of the content of any phone call. Seeing these little hints gave Louis time to prepare, or let out a sigh of relief, so that when Harry would finish his call, Louis would know if the news were bad or good.

He doesn’t pretend anymore. There’s no point; Harry knows he does it. Harry knows because Harry does it too. Watches him carefully, comes sit closer to him if it seems like Louis is getting distressed – a soft hand on his thigh, or just pressing close to Louis’ side. Harry tends to walk around aimlessly when he’s on the phone, like he can’t stay still. Louis can’t stay still either, but he prefers to sit down – yet his feet keep bouncing, fingers tapping his knee, hand gesturing wildly. If Louis starts walking around, Harry knows it’s serious.

One of the very many things Louis loves about Harry is how much he loves his mum. He’s a huge rockstar, world on his feet, eating from his hand, and Harry could do nothing all day but keep on laughing all the way to the bank. He could throw diva fits and be impossibly despicable. Yet, he’s listening to his mum on the phone, trying to pipe up something in between Anne’s shrill monoloque, but he doesn’t interrupt her, doesn’t raise his voice to shut her up. Louis loves how much Harry listens to and loves on his mum. It’s yet another thing they share.

“Why can’t you appreciate my sense of humor?” Harry lets out a frustrated sigh as Anne stops her rant to draw in some breath. “No, mum, it’s not… Because it’s funny!”

Louis hears Anne’s voice coming through the phone, words like _dangerous_ and _hazard_ and _not funny when you split your head open_ audible. Harry holds his phone a bit further away from his ear, pouting at Louis in search of sympathy. Louis walks up to him, lifting his down-turned mouth into a fake smile with his thumbs, and gives Harry a quick peck on the mouth.

Anne keeps blabbering and Harry turns away from Louis, putting his attention into the call again. “Fine, mum. I won’t do it then. For now. But you seriously need to update your understanding of funny.” Harry listens a bit longer, sighing and nodding in turn, and then wrapping up the call. “Love you too, mum. Bye.”

Harry tosses his phone on the sofa and groans, running his hands down his face. “She’s so…”

“What did she say?” Louis asks cautiously.

“Just that, like, it’s not funny. She doesn’t get the point.”

Louis rolls his eyes. A gesture that leaves no evidence to be used against him later.

“I just don’t get it,” Harry huffs as he plops down on the sofa, laying down and resting his head on Louis’ lap. “It’s a fucking hilarious joke.”

Louis starts stroking Harry’s forehead softly, just under his hairline. Harry’s told him before it feels good, tickles in a good way, relaxes him. “It is, babe. You’re hilarious.”

“Thank you!” Harry quips as if it’s obvious. Of course he and all his jokes are hilarious. “So you think I should do it, regardless?”

Louis wills his stroking thumb not to slow down even the slightest, nothing about his tone or body language giving his thoughts away. “Uhm, well, I obviously think it’s great, but if your mum…”

“But what do _you_ think?”

“I think,” Louis starts slowly, trying to play time, “that it’s super funny. So funny, in fact, that you shouldn’t do it yet. You can really only do it once, you know, so I think you should save it for the bigger tour. Make sure as many people as possible hear and see it.”

Harry’s quiet, weighing Louis’ words. Finally, he nods. “You’re right. I should do it with as big of an audience as possible.”

Louis leans down to kiss Harry’s forehead. “Good call, babe. Wanna tell it to me again?”

Harry looks up, eyes sparkling and he tries to get up. Louis wraps his arm around Harry’s chest tighter.

“No no, love, no need to show me. Just tell me.”

“So,” Harry starts excitedly, “I’d walk to the stage, welcome the audience and blahblah the usual, and then say I’m going to do some stand up.” Harry stops, aiming for a dramatic pause. “And then, I fall on the ground, and then come up again. Stand up!” He chuckles and Louis can’t help but chuckle, too.

“It’s genious, babe.”

“I know,” Harry hums happily. “I’m so glad _you_ understand how hilarious I am,” he says and focuses back into watching the reruns of Friends.

Louis hums absentmindedly, reaching out for his phone. He opens his messages and starts typing with his left-hand, as his right seems to be held hostage on Harry’s chest, Harry’s fingers stroking the inside of his wrist.

**To: Anne**

_Thanks love for talking some sense into your son. Sorry to make you bear the brunt x_

Louis puts his phone on silent, so Harry won’t hear the message sounds and start asking questions. It doesn’t take long until Anne replies.

**From: Anne**

_Not a problem, dear. What are mothers for if not to play the crook! And I fully agree with you, there’s no way we can have him falling all over the stage voluntarily with that wrist of his. As if he won’t be doing it accidentally any way._


	3. Tinsel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Winter Drabble fest - for the prompt 'tinsel'.

The horrible shriek comes from by the bins.

A flashlight hits a scrawny looking ginger kitten, staring at them with big eyes. It takes steps back when Harry tries to reach out. Louis rushes back inside, coming out with a bit of golden tinsel. The kitten perks up at the sparkling tinsel, eventually starting to play with the tinsel. Louis lures it inside.

“Which is it,” Louis lifts the front paws up for Harry to have a look.

“Pretty impressive balls.”

“Jingle Balls?”

After serious words, they name him Tinsel. Their Christmas trees will never be safe from being cat-handled.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lightbulb in Louis' room is about to go.

The buzzing is relentless; someone is pressing the doorbell to the bottom, not stopping, the solely purpose to sound annoying as fuck.

Louis knows this because he often does it himself.

“Alright, alright, I’m _coming_!” He shouts as he jogs down the stairs, stopping for a quick glance in the mirror to smooth his sleep-messy hair. “Jesus,” his huff comes out annoyed as he yanks the front door open.

First, he’s confused.

There’s a man, dressed in a sand-coloured workman overall, face covered with ridiculously large sunglasses, and an ill-fitting cap pulled deep down his head. The sunglasses seem to be sliding down the man’s nose, as he lifts them back up with his index finger. The London sun is scorching, and the man’s dark curls look strangely flat and frizzy at the same time, pointing crazily to every direction from under his cap.

Secondly, Louis feels incredibly endeared and thus tries to bite his lip for not cracking up at the ridiculous display. “Hey ba…”

The man coughs. “Hello, uhm, are you Mr Tomlinson?” He says pointedly to interrupt Louis.

Ah. Right. Guess they’re doing this then.

“Yes, I am he,” Louis corrects his pose, standing up a little staighter as tries to sound posh and proper. If only the corner of his mouth would stop twitching.

‘The man’ nods, looking serious as he glances at a clipboard he’s holding. “Good. Great. I, err, hear that you currently suffer from an electrical issue?”

“And how did you hear that, may I ask?” Louis relaxes his stance, placing a hand on his hip and begging for that _god damn corner of his mouth to stop fucking twitching._

“Just, ah, a friend. Yes, a friend told me.”

“Friend of yours or a friend of mine?” Louis challenges, lifting his jaw up a little. He’s having too much fun with this _totally random chap_ on his doorstep.

Louis can literally hear the gears working under the man’s cap. Finally, the man seems to figure out a good answer. “A shared friend,” he says, looking pleased with himself. “Apparently you have a faulty lightbulb?”  

“You came here for that?”

“Yes,” the man nods.

Louis throws his hands into the air, dramatically. “Blessed be! I’ve been sitting in the darkness for days now. Come on, get in, please,” he courteously opens the door wider, gesturing with his hand to let the man in.

They make their way upstairs, the man walking first – Louis isn’t going to query how this fella knows where the faulty lightbulb is, he’d rather just let it slide and admire the view of the man’s bum in the tight overalls as he’s hopping up the steps.

“I hope you brought a lightbulb with you, mind,” Louis says conversationally. “I don’t think I have any.”

The man turns to look over his shoulder, patting a bulge near his crotch area. “This isn’t just because I’m happy to see you, you know.”

Louis can’t really judge him for not staying in character, not when he himself steals a gentle pinch of his bum.

“Sorry about the state of the place,” Louis feels slightly embarrassed, “my usual housekeeper has been frolicking around the world for some while now,” he explains as he opens the door to their bedroom.

The man nods, looking around and at least trying not to look grossed out at the piles of clothes on the floor and the not-so-few take out boxes. “Understandable. I do, in fact, offer housekeeping services as well, you might be interested to know,” he winks.

“I just might be,” Louis says.

Their eyes lock and Louis can physically feel his lips tingle with how much he really wants a kiss right now. They stare at each other for a fleeting moment that seems to stop time, the man taking a few shuffled steps to stand unnecessarily close to Louis.

“Now, about that lamp,” the man then coughs, breaking the spell.

An answer seems to not be needed, as the man takes out the new bulb from his pocket, unscrews the old one from the lamp on the ceiling, and handily replaces the bulb. “Could you put the lights on for me?” he asks. Louis complies, walking back to the door to the light switch.

There’s light, bright shiny light. Louis nods approvingly, with the man nodding back, looking rather pleased with himself. Louis turns the lights off again and walks back to the man, standing in the foot of their bed.

“Thank you,” Louis says earnestly. “What a pal.”

“Just doing my work, sir,” the man tips his cap. “Now, about payment…”

“Oh, of course! I, uhm, don’t think I have any cash on me, I’m afraid,” Louis puts on his best pouting face.

“No?” The man looks incredulous, taking a step closer to Louis, eyeing him from head to toe, unabashed as the lets his eyes roam over every part of Louis’ body. “How come?”

“Well, I _am_ a millionaire. Don’t need cash.”

“You need cash to pay for handyman services.”

“Didn’t know you were coming, did I?”

The man considers, and then nods. “True. Got me there. I’m sure we can, uhm, come up with another way of payment,” he says, using this voice of his that he thinks is sultry and Louis thinks is just endearing, as he puts his warm hands on Louis’ hips and squeezes gently. “Can’t we?”

Louis actually blushes, feeling his breathing get quicker and his skin starting to prickle. “I, uhm, well my boyfriend _does_ always tell me to treat people with kindness, so…” he mumbles as the man gently nudges him down on the bed.

“What a great boyfriend you must have,” the man muses as he _finally_ leans in to give Louis a kiss, his lips feeling cool, even if they just flutter lightly on Louis’ already hot lips.

“He is,” Louis sighs as the cool lips move to kiss down his neck. “He even flies across the pond to fix the lightbulb.”

Harry nudges the tip of Louis’ nose with his own, hand wandering down Louis’ tummy, fingertips finding their way under the waistband. “Not just the lightbulb.”


End file.
